The Birth and Death of a Sin
by QuikSylver
Summary: Something that randomly popped into my head, and I had to write it out. Lust contemplates her creation and then her last moments. Lust's POV. Please R&R, it's greatly appreciated.


_Disclaimer: Don't own it. Surprising, I know._

* * *

_Pain..._

Is that the word?

I have no idea.

I seem frozen in the moment, unable to move, breath, think...

Well, I can think, but even my thoughts seem foreign. What's happening?

People appear in my mind's eye, against a backdrop of black – no, a back drop of nothing.

_God!_ I want to scream. But... what is God?

Their faces are staring at me in concern; no, they're leering, laughing. I recognize them, some of them at least... _Stop it!_

Twisting, struggling, but not moving. Is that possible? I didn't used to think it was.

_I_... What a strange concept. Who was_ I_? What was _I_ like?

_Was I??_

_Confusion..._

Throughout it all a sense of, of... _wrongness_ permeates everything.

This is against the laws of... Of what? I can't remember...

The people start to fade into nothing. No, into _the_ nothing, joining that unreal background, until all the remains are their sneering, mocking faces.

First their eyes, then the rest of their features disappear, leaving skin-toned, blurry blobs that look vaguely head-shaped.

_The pain..._

I inhale sharply, gasping, panting, _fighting_ for that air. Funny how that works, something I can't even see is what keeps me going, even though _the pain_ is screaming through me, tearing at me, threatening to erase the being that is _I_.

Another pain-laced breath rattles into my lungs. _No, please!!_ screams someone, separate from _I_, yet still a part of me. How is that possible?

Almost lazily, I gaze at the blobs in my mind's eye. I recognize that they are faces, yet do not recognize whose. Who were they? Did I know them?

"Please... please," someone whispers, the sound of their voice crashing into my skull, rebounding, rebounding, screaming and laughing and mocking...

I struggle to form words, make some sort of sound other than the harsh rasping of my laboured breathing, but my tongue won't function; or rather, it refuses to function. It is as confused as me.

"Please..." Another broken, desperate whisper tears at my ears, ripping through my consciousness, increasing the pain...

A small whimper escapes by open mouth as I exhale.

Where I am smells strange, yet familiar. Like musty paper, old books maybe? And sweat, and fear, but most of all sorrow. Whoever is whispering smells of all those things.

"M-my... love..." I hardly understand the words; they seem more like a noise than something with meaning.

My eyelids flicker, a face looms uncomfortably close to mine.

Desperation, hope, fear, all those things can be seen on the face.

I want to answer that face, give it reassurance, or _something, anything!_ But no words come out. My lips move, my tongue moves, but no words. Something between a groan and a strangled gasp, but nothing more. Just guttural noises.

"D-darling?" His hope dwindles, flickers, and is gone; all that remains is defeat, suffocating and overwhelming.

A knock on the door startles him. He rises and disappears from my sight. My ears have adjusted by now, and I can hear him speaking in low voices with someone else. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping this isn't real, a dream, a nightmare, anything but reality.

Eventually the nothing swallows me and I disappear, for a while.

---

When I wake next, a woman with green, stringy hair is leaning over me, leering. Violet, cruel eyes so unlike the man's glare into my wide, frightened ones.

"Dante," she sneers, "our little monster's awake." What does that mean? I feel like I should know...

A voice, elderly, replies, "Oh, come now, Envy, you looked much the same when you were first created."

I want to scream, to run, to hide, to be anywhere else but here, yet all I can do is stare back, afraid and unable to do anything, except breathe.

The woman takes something red from beside my head and presses it into my mouth. I gag. It is hard and tastes bitter and fear. How do you taste fear?

I swallow instinctively, and suddenly I want more, more moremore!

The woman chuckles as she gives me more. I gobble them down at an amazing rate, disappointed when she says, "No more, little monster."

I close my eyes, hoping she'll go away now. I feel sick, yet stronger than before. When I open my eyes again, she is gone. I raise my head experimentally and stare at my body. It is unlike the sad man's, or the purple-eyed woman's, yet I have a feeling it will not always be like it is now, my stuck out ribs, or my twisted limbs, my throbbing, beating heart, my lungs that contracted and dilated in the rhythm of my breathing; I will soon look like the others I have seen.

I hear the soft rustle of shifting clothing and look to the side. An elderly woman with grey hair pulled back into a neat bun, wearing a purple shawl and a yellow-green shirt, sat on a wooden chair beside the thing (I realised it was a bed) that I was lying on.

"I am Dante," she says, studying me intently. "And you... You are Lust."

I try to imitate what she said, that word, _Lust_, but I cannot. All I manage is an eager-sounding gurgle.

"There now, it's all right." She says comforting words, but her face and voice are cold, unfeeling. She reaches out a hand and strokes my hair, but that is no more comforting than her demeanour. I lay my head back down and close my eyes, hoping she too will be gone when I reopen them.

But she doesn't leave, she just keeps talking, and running her hand absently over my jet black hair. "You are a Homunculus, an artificial human created as a result, as a _mistake_, of a failed human transmutation. You are immortal, superior in every way to humans. You are one of five, those others being Envy, the man you saw before; Greed, of whom we will not mention again; Gluttony, who I intend to use to create a Philosopher's Stone; and Pride, my greatest creation, a Homunculus who ages."

So the green-haired woman is actually a green-haired man. How confusing. I don't open my eyes, or acknowledge that I am listening, eager for more words. They remind me of something, an important something, a _memory_ that hovers just beyond my grasp, that moves farther away every time I reach for it, tantalizing and unattainable.

"Do you remember the one who created you?" Dante asks

Images of the desperate, sad man flashed through my head but I no longer felt pity for him. In it's stead, I felt contempt, mingled with a strange longing to be as he was, not as I was now, a Homunculus, an accident, something unsavoury and unintended.

Without realising it, I nod slowly, an affirmative gesture.

"That man didn't want you; forget him. He merely wanted someone with which to copulate, a toy. If you mention him, I will be extremely displeased. Never speak of him, or ask about him. He intended to kill you, and would have if I hadn't interceded and brought you here. _Forget him_." The force Dante puts into those last words startle me; surely someone who was as desperate as he was would not have... And yet, I do look so odd, so different... He would not have killed me... Would he...?

Another rustle of cloth alerts me to the fact that Dante has risen. "Sleep well, my pet. Envy will come later, with more Red Stones. Eat them up, they're made from selfish human lives and very hard to come by," she says, then leaves me alone to reflect on her words.

Made from... human lives... Was I not an attempt at creating human life? I should refuse to eat the Stones next time, and yet the mere thought of them creates a mad fluttering in my stomach, a craving for them. And yet, Dante had said I was superior to humans, so would it not be fitting that I grow stronger using their lives?

---

Therein lay my mistake; I see that now. I should have had the will to resist the Stones' ugly temptation, but I was weak then, weaker than I am now, on my hands and knees near the edge of an array designed specifically to weaken the beings known as Homunculi.

I remember the man now, the kind, sad man who was my creator, and brother of the scarred Ishbalan. A pity I cannot remember his name; I would have liked to honour a man as brave as the one known as Scar before my death.

Perhaps it's fate. I've always wondered where I came from; the only thing that kept me from trying to find out was the fear that it would be nothing.

I suppose it doesn't matter now. It's over for me.

I pray that the Elrics will find what they're searching for. I believe I may have found that which I was looking for.

I hope the obnoxious Homunculus known as Wrath finds his own peace too, even if he is the one who will finally kill me. Perhaps it's fitting that one of my own kind be the one to finish me off.

The nothing looms up again to meet me, but I feel no fear this time, only grim determination.

* * *

A/N: All right. I hope you liked this. It's supposed to be serious and whatnot, and also supposed to sound like something Lust would say\think. I'd appreciate if you left a comment or a rating (1-10) if you read this, so I can hopefully improve\modify my work the next time! 

Also: My spellchecker suggested 'Ishbalan' was 'balance'! xD

-QS AKA Pride-


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